


Too Dear for My Possessing

by ItsKhanfidential



Category: The Sound of Music - Rodgers/Hammerstein/Lindsay & Crouse
Genre: (sort of), Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Flashbacks, Georg has a lot of problems, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Max is just trying to be a good bro, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 04:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10734438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsKhanfidential/pseuds/ItsKhanfidential
Summary: Max Detweiler has loved his best friend, Georg von Trapp, since they were in high school. When Georg propositions him after Georg's wife dies, how can Max bring himself to say no?





	Too Dear for My Possessing

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when your whole cast starts shipping you with the main character's love interest, and you can't help but have a little fun with it. It's not beta-read, although a bunch of my friends in the cast read it and I would trust them enough to point out most of the grammar mistakes I made to me. The title comes from Shakespeare's Sonnet No. 87.

The mountainous terrain of Austria flew past Maximilian Detweiler at high speeds as the automobile he was currently in flew down the scenic mountain road. He had asked Georg to drive a little slower at least six times since they had left Vienna, but obviously the man was not taking his opinion into consideration, and Max settled himself for saying a small prayer and hoping that God (or anyone, really) heard it.

He had resigned himself to working on that year’s festival arrangements, scribbling quickly in his black planning notebook. But when he looked back at what he had written on the pages before, he found that every word was almost incomprehensible due to the jarring motions of the car skipping over the rocky terrain of the mountain roads.

He gave up on occupying himself and closed the book gently, placing his black pen back in the breast pocket of his deep navy blue buttoned blazer and moving instead to stare out the window. He wrinkled his nose absently at the sight of the tall mountains and green pastures. There was very little about the countryside which Max actually enjoyed, and most of what he did enjoy could be pinned down to the haughty sense of power that staying with rich friends seemed to instill in him.

The country was not a survivable place for a person like Max, who thrived in part from the luxuries he could afford to skim from his richer acquaintances (namely the man beside him in the car now), as well as on the connectivity that being in town gave him. A man like Max in the countryside was vulnerable; Max did not have easy access to the resources and power with which he could shield himself in Berlin, or even in Vienna.

Nevertheless, he suffered it, especially now of all times, when it seemed that Georg needed him most. And where Georg needed him was where he planned to be. Max chanced a glance over to the man in question. A near perpetual look of pain and bitterness that had colored his friends’ features in the year since Agathe had died was coloring his face now, and he stared ahead at the road, though Max imagined that he attention was very far from driving entirely. He gripped the steering wheel tightly enough that his knuckles were turning white, and his posture spoke anxious, distressed, disturbed.

It was worse than usual, Max realized. Usual meant a quiet depressive state that Georg seemed to fall into more and more as the days passed. But how he seemed agitated and uncertain, and, is if to mark Max’s thoughts, Georg drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, breaking the silence just slightly.

Max looked back down at his book, ran a thumb along the ridge of the spine, and then returned his gaze back to the road ahead. He supposed he could ask Georg about it when they arrived, which, if he had been counting the hours correctly, was going to be soon. Max quietly asked his friend, “Are you looking forward to seeing the children?”

Of course he was looking forward to seeing his children, and obviously Max knew that, but Max supposed that listening to Georg speak would perhaps distract both of them from Georg’s ever-present grief. Max himself was looking forward to seeing them, he supposed. He had not seen little Gretl since she was infant; she had to be one by now.

“Of course.” Georg affirmed after a moment. His face was still set into a hard, frown, although he loosened up slightly and tilted an eyebrow as he noted, “Though Frau Schmidt has informed me that our governess, Frau von Reindhurst, has resigned.”

“Again?” Max asked in disbelief. That was the third governess in just as many months. The second one had not lasted three weeks.

“Again. She believes it was Louisa.” Georg answered.

“Will you be hiring a new governess while we are here?” Max concluded.

“Yes, and then it will be back to town.” Georg agreed. “I left some work in Vienna; I do not expect we will be away from town for long.”

Max fell silent; he knew, even if Georg could not see it, that Louisa’s misbehavior was her way of trying to garner Georg’s attention. But Georg did not tend to take kindly to “friendly parenting advice”, so Max instead resigned himself back to the quiet of the car ride.

It was in that silence where they remained until they arrived back at the Trapp villa. The children were already lined up out front awaiting their father’s homecoming. Liesl held Marta next to her, but Marta was short enough that her hand barely met Liesel’s hand. Friedrich held baby Gretl tight in his arms, and she grabbed at the curls of his hair and twisted them about her fingers. As the car pulled up into the driveway, all of the children seemed to light up slightly. Liesel pointed out Georg behind the wheel to Marta, and Marta pointed excitedly. Gretl brought her attention away from Friedrich’s hair and to the approaching car.

Georg pulled the parking brake into place and took the keys from the ignition, and the two men stepped out of the car. Max adjusted his suit, shut the car door behind himself, and stepped into tandem at Georg’s side.

A chorus of voices rang out across the yard as the children greeted their father, and Max watched as Georg put on a forced smile and greeted them, reprimanded Louisa for her vague bad treatment of the last governess (although Max would never find out what she really did, he did eventually glean from the boys that it somehow involved spiders and glue paste) and informed them that he would hire a new governess while he was still at the villa.

The children turned to Max next, and he greeted them in turn. He ruffled Kurt’s slicked back hair and waved hello to Marta, who shyly waved back. When he neared Gretl, she tried to grab the shiny black pen from his pocket, and he instead smiled patiently and handed her an old business card to crumple. He looked away from her and towards Georg to find him watching the interaction fondly.

Franz approached Georg and Max slowly and began, “Shall the Captain and Herr Detweiler be taking dinner this evening?”

“Yes. Thank you, Franz.” Georg confirmed.

Once greetings had been completed, the children returned inside, traipsing behind Frau Schmidt and Franz. Georg and Max followed slowly. The sun was close to setting; it was almost eight-thirty. They would take a rather late dinner as soon as they were inside, Franz had informed them.

Franz led Max and Georg to the table that overlooked the terrace. The room was tall and sparsely decorated, a single, small table set close to large French windows which allowed for a perfect view of the darkening country landscape against the setting sun. The carefully manicured garden cast stark shadows in the fading light, long enough that their tips hit the floor at Max’s feet. They sat on opposite sides of the table, slightly facing each other and slightly pitched away towards the orange sky.

Max watched Georg fondly as he took his seat; the golden orange glow of the sky reflected off of his light skin and shone against his dark hair, and gleamed brilliantly in his eyes. He turned away as a flood of memories took him back some twenty-odd years, a stolen moment when they nicked a bottle of bottle of brandy from Headmaster Pfeifer’s office and climbed the stairs up to the roof and watched the sunset, and Max listened fondly as Georg talked, and they watched the sun dip below the horizon, and even then they stayed there and watched the stars blink to life one by one.

Franz brings the food in- goulasch- and poured two glasses of brandy. They were silent for some time; neither had eaten since they had left Vienna some three or four hours ago. Eventually, Max’s hunger waned, and he set down the fork and instead plucked the glass of brandy from the table. “How have you been? We have not spoken much at length in person since you were last in town.” Max speaks eventually, knowing how simple it is to be drawn down towards memories he should not be dredging up.

Georg seemed to roll the question around in his mind as he rolled the thick amber liquid around his glass, his eyes fixated to the movement, but his gaze unseeing, as if his thoughts were very far away. “It seems as if every day, the loneliness that found me when Agathe died is increasing.” He sighed, sat up a bit. “And it seems I can do nothing to alleviate it.”

Max thought about his remark for a few minutes. He downed what remained of his brandy and watched the sun sink further behind the horizon. “It’s been more than a year since Agathe died. In most circles that is an acceptable mourning period. You could start looking for a new wife, if you so choose.” Max suggested. He sat back and began to list the women he knew of who were currently looking for suitors. “There’s Fraulein Weishau, and Frau Reinhardt. I recently met a Frau Schrader at a dinner party- she was very agreeable; I think you would like her.”

“I… I’m not sure how comfortable I would feel growing close to someone new just yet.” Georg admitted after a moment. “A relationship like that, you have to be open with a complete stranger. I’m not sure I’m ready to lay bare everything onto someone I barely know, in the same manner I would talk to you. Not yet. I’d much rather be with someone I already know, whom I already trust.”

Max was silent for a moment. The sun dipped below the horizon once and all and the world was steeped in darkness as the last rays disappeared. “Like who?”

Georg turned Max slowly, gazed at him fiercely, his expression tentative but determined. “You.”

Max felt his blood run cold. “Like… like me.” He repeated in a dumbfounded voice.

“It would only be temporary, of course. I think having someone else by my side would help me through this process.” Georg explained, slightly flustered.

Max nodded absently, in his mind still playing over Georg’s words, barely above a whisper. He answered, “Of course,” after a moment.

Georg quickly stood from his chair, and Max followed the motion, moving to stand at the large floor-to-ceiling French windows and unseeingly watch the sky change from pale orange to deep twilight blue.

They were silent for a moment. The gravity of what Georg had propositioned seemed to cling to the air like humidity, and Max imagined that, should he open his mouth and speak, the words would drown him from the inside out.

He heard the sound of Georg’s footsteps behind him. After a moment he turned, and the man was incredibly close to Max, close enough that he could smell the other man’s cologne and the very slight scent of brandy on his breath, and could hear his steady breathing and feel his heat. Georg smiled at him, the first genuine smile Max had seen him give since they had left Vienna. It was simultaneously soft and pleading and gentle, and Max had imagined this gaze from Georg countless times, but he had never allowed himself to dream that these fantasies would come true. “Please, Max.” Georg whispered, his eyes flitting to Max’s lips and then back up to pierce Max’s eyes with his own gaze. “Will you do this for me?”

It was all at once and suddenly Max was not in a mountainside villa, he was sitting on the bleachers of a cricket pitch just south of Salzburg, watching the reflection of his feet in the puddle of water below him as he dangled them from above.

It was an overcast afternoon on the grounds of St. Augustus Boarding School, puffy grey clouds obscuring the sun following a morning shower, the promise of sunlight yet to be delivered upon. Rain puddles clung to the slate roofs and grey concrete pathways, and seemed to reflect the depressive greyscale of the sky.

Max, a scraggly boy of eight, ran a hand through his light hair and tugged at the edge of his gym shirt, a hand-me-down from his older brother that was two sizes too big. He watched the other boys pick teams for cricket, but remained where he sat, knowing that he, as always, would be picked last, whether because of his often dubious health or his small size. He did not hold it against the boys, many of whom were his friends. On the contrary, he would rather they win without his assistance than lose due to his interference.

He could feel the eyes of his gym instructor, Herr Wieswurst upon him, and he shrunk a bit, but summoned up the courage to chance a look up towards the man. He chose an unlucky moment, for Weiswurst seized the moment to indicate for Max to come and see him.

Reluctantly, Max clambered down from the bleachers and across the field to where Weiswurst was standing. He noticed another boy approaching Weiswurst- Georg von Trapp, one of the few boys in Max’s grade with whom he was not familiar.

Max’s father had been very adamant about reminding his sons that their middle-class standing in society was not ideal. He had taken it upon himself to instill in them from a much younger age that in order for him to live a comfortable and happy life in the future, Max needed to make connections now. It was a message which Max had taken to heart, and as soon as he left for boarding school, Max was doing favors for his classmates and charming his way into their circles. Previously his family’s class and income had been his enemy; something which ostracized him from his richer companions, but now it was helping him to buy his way into success.

Regardless, it took Max a moment to recognize the other boy, but when he did recognize him- more specifically, when the other boy gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement, Max could guess why Weiswurst had called both of them forward. Von Trapp was one of the top football athletes in their class, and Weiswurst most likely wanted von Trapp to help Max increase his athletic ability.

True to Max’s predictions, Weiswurst crouched down closer to the ground and explained, “I know you’ve been struggling with this class, Max. And of course I understand that, but you need to participate at least a little bit to get a good grade. That’s why I’ve asked Georg here to help you with the different activities which we do.”

Like a handler. Max thought bitterly, but instead he nodded quietly. “Yes, sir.” He affirmed, his gaze affixed to Weiswurst’s white trainers.

Weiswurst smiled at the two boys in front of him. He indicated toward the pile of equipment toward the center of the pitch and said, “Why don’t the two of you take some bats and start practicing?” He stood up straight and motioned toward the field again. The two turned and began to walk back towards the equipment.

Knowing that he would probably need to spend a good amount of time with von Trapp for the class, Max decided to attempt some minimal small talk. “I’m sorry that Weiswurst is putting you up to this.” He chuckled a bit.

Georg smiled slightly. They reached the pile where the bats and cricket balls had pbeen lain out and picked up a set with which to practice. “It’s fine.” He answered as he tested the grip on the bat slightly. “Do you know how to play cricket?”

“Of course.” Max affirmed a bit defensively, even though he knew that Georg was just being polite. Tentatively, he tossed a ball into the air, and caught in firmly in the palm of his hand.

Georg watched him curiously for a moment, then shifted his bat into his left hand, held out the right, and said, “I’m sorry, but I seem to have forgotten my manners. My name is Georg von Trapp.”

Max stared at the hand for a moment before clasping it, not out of distrust or shock, but more out of curiosity. Both knew who the other was, of course. You could no go two years with same set of sixty boys and not know each one by name, even if not personally. Regardless, he mimicked Georg’s movement after a moment, shifted his bat into the opposite hand and clasped their hands. “Max Detweiler.” He answered confidently.

The memory blurred, a whirl of young boyish memories and happy laughter and carefree faces, until it winded down and arrived a day almost ten years from then. Max, sixteen, pushed his still-unruly golden-brown hair out of his face in a much similar motion to the motion he made as a much younger child. He walked down the concrete pathway in one of St. Augustus’ many courtyards to where Georg was waiting for him in the center. Georg toyed with the edge of his blue blazer jacket, then repositioned his shoulder bag and checked his watch in a methodical manner. This was a schedule.

Max greeted Georg with a nod and Georg picked up Max's pace as they progressed through the courtyard. Georg seemed to radiate excitement and energy, and Max seemed rather amused by this, so he held off until they had been walking for ten or fifteen seconds before asking, “So?” Max asked as they entered a corridor. “How was it?”

“She’s amazing, Max.” Georg gushed happily, and his shoulders slumped dreamily as he spoke. “I think I could spend the rest of my life with this girl.”

Max smiled authentically and ignored the twinge of sadness the words gave him. He was happy for his friend. No feelings otherwise could make that any less true. Still, it hurt, imagining Georg devoting himself to this girl and leaving Max in the dust. He pushed the thoughts down and pretended that they were unfounded. “I told you that you’d like her.” He answered confidently, straightening his back slightly.

“Agathe is just so sweet, and clever- and her voice-” He made some vague lovesick motion with his hands, but, seeing that Max did not understand exactly, explained, “She sounds like an angel.”

Annoyance prickled in the back of Max’s mind. Agathe was okay. Max could not understand what all Georg’s dramatics were about. It was not as if she were ‘the one’. Max had set Georg up with countless women before, he would continue to do so even after Agathe was just an afterthought in their minds.

“But what if she is?” Georg asked, and Max turned to him with a furrowed brow. Georg elaborated, “’The one’ I mean.”

Max flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I said that out loud.” They walked in silence for a moment, and Max contemplated what his next words would be. Saying Agathe was not ‘the one’ would be off-putting for Georg, and Max supposed he would be mad at him for saying so. But affirming it would have been out of character for Max, so he settled with, “I suppose she could be.”

The scene changed, it was three years later- their last year at St. Augustus’, and they were sitting in the orange glow of sunset atop the slanted slate roof of the Christoph Fischer-Vogel Mathematics Building (Max remembered that it was the science building because it was the westernmost building on campus, and only tall conifers and taller mountains are visible against the glowing sky) The blue changed to yellow, to orange, to red as the sun sunk further towards the mountains.

Georg took a swig of the half-emptied bottle of brandy and passed it to Max, and maybe it was the buzz of the alcohol that made him do it but Max reached over and swiped his thumb along Georg’s lower lip. He collected the droplets of brandy that had spilled there, and then sucked them up gently with his tongue. And Lord help him, but Georg looks transfixed.

They both knew it could not happen. Georg was already engaged to marry Agathe within three years, even if it had not been publicly announced. Max remembered this and pulled his hand away from his mouth and took another drink from the bottle. “I suppose your parents are happy with the match.”

“Of course. They actually asked me to thank you personally for introducing us.” Georg answered nonchalantly, as if Max had not just touched his lip and Georg’s eyes had not followed every movement of his mouth and tongue as they retrieved the spare droplets of brandy.

Max felt the irony almost as strongly as he felt the dizzying warmth of the brandy as it slid down his throat. He had almost forgotten that he had been the one to introduced them. He was not sure what he had been expecting, setting Georg up with one woman after another. Maybe he supposed Georg would give up after a few years. But here they were.

“I’ll be sure to tell them all about it next time I’m up at the villa for dinner.” Max responded in the same nonchalant tone, careful to keep his depressive thoughts from coloring his voice. He looked at Georg and smiled at how neatly his hair was coiffed and how his eyes gleamed in the fading light.

The light dipped below the horizon, and suddenly Max was going on forty, and he was sitting in an intricate metal chair underneath him, his hands digging into the cold metal, the burn of the brandy echoing back to the nights spent on the Christoph Fischer-Vogel roof. The sun has disappeared, and he is not a second older than he had been when Georg asked him the question moments ago, “Will you do this for me?”

They both already know what the answer is. Max thinks that they have both known for a very long time. Georg’s face falls a bit, not out of lost hope but almost as if he is only just realizing that this is a topic about which Max was going to be sensitive. “Max…” He whispers, not a plea for yes, but a plead for him to answer.

And answer Max does, by pulling Georg by the lapels into a heated kiss.

Georg pulls back. It’s not passionate; it’s not warm or sweet; it’s an awkward position and their teeth clack together and scratch against the soft skin of their lips. Georg pulls Max out of the chair and Max is about to curl his fingers into Georg’s suit before he freezes for a moment, realizes just what he had done.

Was it worth it? To lay with Georg, the man he had loved for some twenty-odd years, for just days, weeks, maybe months- if he was that lucky. The knowledge that Georg would never feel so intensely for Max as Max did for him seemed to weigh on him like the world on Atlas’ shoulders. It seemed so selfish for Max to wish to experience these precious few moments in Georg’s arms, before knowing that Georg would one day find another woman to have as his. Because that was the way Georg worked.

Georg gave Max a concerned look, and Max could not stand to see the eyes of the man that he loved knit with such alarm (especially when aimed towards Max himself) and Max through logical thought processes out of the window and pressed their lips back together, clutching at the rough fabric of Georg’s tweed blazer and practically melting into him.

Subconsciously, Max made sure to catalogue every image of Georg’s fluttering eyes, every sound of their lips against each other, or the tiny sighs that would escape Georg’s mouth when their lips touched, or the warmth of his body, or the smell of his cologne, or the taste of brandy against his lips.

Georg’s hands travelled across Max’s body and found his hair, burying each digit beneath the slicked back waves of golden brown hair, and then pulled gently, tugging the curls out of their careful perfection. Curls of his hair fell neatly into Max’s eyes and Georg smiled kindly. “I’ve wanted to do that ever since you started slicking it back.” He whispered. “I missed when you left your hair messy.”

“It doesn’t leave a very good impression.” Max mumbled as Georg threaded a lock between his fingers.

Georg’s eyes crinkled. “I think it left a good one on me.” He closed the distance again, and this time, Max took the lead, reversing their positions so that Max had Georg backed into the table which had, just a moment ago, been the scene to something wholly more platonic and much less heated. Max imagined what he would have done if he had known that Georg would proposition him here before they had left Vienna. Maybe he would not have come, but of course that was a lie. He would never have made a different choice. The moment Georg asked him the question the answer was clear.

Footsteps reverberated off of the high ceilings. Max jumped away from Georg, and Georg knocked back into the table so quickly that the glass decanter of brandy tipped over the edge and shattered across the floor. It was a piece of Georg’s parents’ collection.

Franz’ face appeared in the doorway. He looked as aloof as ever as he said, “Frau Schmidt has asked me to report that the children are all put to bed, Captain. Shall you or Mr. Detweiler be requiring anything else for the evening?”

Obviously anxious to get Franz out of the room, “Could you get the maids to come and clean up this decanter? I believe Max and I are going to turn in upstairs for the night.” Their eyes met as Georg spoke, and Max felt the flutter of anxiousness in his chest.

Upstairs. Where there were beds. Max nodded his agreement after a short moment and turned his gaze back to Franz. If Franz detected anything amiss, he said nothing, and after a moment he turned and exited the room.

Georg stepped around the chairs, and Max followed, trying not to feel like a lovesick puppy. Georg led them upstairs to the master bedroom, and the door had clicked shut with a resounding –lock- noise behind them.

Max was quick to press Georg up against the door and kiss him more fervently than he had allowed himself downstairs, still with the awkward but heated kisses, but now deeper, and Max simultaneously pulled the knot on Georg’s tie and popped the first button on his shirt, giving Max much better access to his neck. Georg seemed to understand what Max was attempting to do and undid the tie entirely, popping open two more buttons so that Max could slide the shoulder of his blazer and shirt off slightly and expose the smooth skin of his throat and upper chest.

Max broke the kiss and Georg followed him slightly, before leaning his head back against the wood of the door as Max’s lips found his neck and sucked a dark mark into his skin there. Max had to move away a stutter out a sigh when Georg’s hips moved against his and made the tenting in his pants obvious to Max.

“Georg,” He whispered as their eyes met. Georg seemed to relish the sound of his name on Max’s lips, and it made Max’s heart swell. He felt the happiness for a moment before willing it away again. Georg’s reaction was only due to not being touched for well over a year. It had nothing to do with Max.

He forced the thoughts away by closing the distance between their lips again, an opportunity which Georg used to undo Max’s tie and toss it away from them. He pushed Max forward slightly and used the newfound space to lead him towards the bed in the center of the room.

Max pushed his own blazer from his shoulders, and Georg mirrored the action, tossing them down and then closing in again. He pushed Max down into the plush duvet atop the bed and climbed on top, pressing their lengths together, and Max was very suddenly struck with his own yearning to see Georg flushed and bare against him. Georg’s lips met his neck and Max opened the remaining buttons on Georg’s shirt, before pulling it from where it was neatly tucked into his pants and stripping it from his arms.

Max’s hands roamed freely up the bare skin of Georg’s back, mapping every plain with his hands and memorizing it. Georg’s hands found his hair and tangled in the curls again, pulling his fingers gently through, and then using the leverage to tilt Max’s chin upwards and catch his lips in his. He brought the free hand up to the buttons on Max’s shirt and began to undo them, but he was having trouble. His hands were shaking.

Max brought his hands up to cover Georg’s and began to undo the buttons with him, and he pulled the tails of the shirt out of his pants for him, and, before retrieving his hand, he cupped Georg through his pants. Georg rutted his hips more anxiously, obviously desperate for the friction that Max was providing. His hand found the front of Max’s pants, toying with the button before undoing it carefully and pulling Max’s pants away.

He pulled out Max’s cock, which he took in his hand and began to stroke eagerly. “Fuck, Georg.” Max groaned, a bit shocked at his own vulgarity. It was rough and a bit sloppy (and it was obvious that Georg had never done this to another man), but it was amazing. His thumb brushed over the tip, collecting the pre cum that had collected there and swiping it over his skin.

Max’s head tilted back and his hands found Georg’s ass. He slipped his hands under the waist of Georg’s pants and groped the smooth skin of his ass, causing Georg to grind down into him. He moaned and whispered, “Please, touch me, Max.” His voice was husky and low as he finished, “I need your hands on my cock.”

Max retracted his hand and brought it around to the front of Georg’s pants, shimmying his hand between Georg’s currently tugging lightly at his cock, and deftly undid the button on his pants. He pulled Georg’s cock from his pants and skillfully began to run his hand up his hard length. Georg’s head met Max’s chest as he thrust into Max’s hand.

Max pulled his hand away and Georg had to bite back a whimper at the sudden lack of contact. He pushed Georg up a bit and Georg obliged, allowing Max to shimmy off his pants and fully reveal Georg to him.

Georg rolled off of Max as Max tossed the other man’s pants off of the bed. He leaned back on his elbows, his erect cock leaking as Max climbed over him and positioned himself so that his face was level with Georg’s dick.

“Is this okay?” He mumbled, eyes flashing up to meet Georg’s as he lowered his mouth towards Georg’s cock.

“Yes.” Georg nodded vigorously, eyes fluttering closed, mouthing the word soundlessly before finally whispering, “Please.”

Max smirked slightly at Georg’s breathless smile and brought his mouth down to the base of Georg’s shaft, and then drawing his tongue up the dark vein leading to the head, the taste of Georg’s pre cum bitter against Max’s tongue. His tongue reached the slit of Georg’s cock. He flicked it over the edge of Georg’s head and then sunk his mouth down onto Georg’s cock.

“God dammit, Max.” Georg cursed, his hand flying into the mussed golden-brown curls at the nape of Max’s neck. Max hummed around Georg at the contact and bobbed his head and sunk down on Georg’s cock until he was almost at the base and he could feel the tip of his cock hitting the back of his throat.

He pulled back off until the tip of Georg was all that remained in his mouth, and swirled his tongue around the tip before bobbing his head back down again. His eyes met Georg through his eyelashes, both clouded with lust. Max felt Georg’s hips stutter; but it seemed he could not stop himself and he arched his back off of the bed, thrusting his length into Max’s mouth and down his throat.

Max thanked the Lord on high that he did not have a gag reflex and swallowed around Georg’s cock, pulling him in deeper. “Max, you’ve got to- If you don’t stop I’m going to-”

Max took the warning and pulled his mouth off of Georg’s cock, his lips popping off with a quiet smack. Georg sat up and beckoned Max up from where he had been lying and stripped his pants away, leaving both of them completely naked as he pulled him forward so that Max was straddling his lap, rubbing Georg’s straining cock against the cleft of his ass.

Max’s tongue darted out to catch a few stray doplets of pre-cum from his lips, and Georg took the opportunity to catch him in an open-mouthed kiss, latching their mouths together, the taste of himself still fresh on Max’s lips.

Max rubbed his hips down against Georg’s cock. He broke the kiss and brought his lips closer to Georg’s lips. “Do you want to fuck me?” He whispered, his lips dusting against Georg’s cheek.

Georg’s response was punctuated when he groped Max’s ass. “Please, Max.” He answered, and despite the aggressiveness of his actions the words seemed to tremble on his voice. “Please.”

They extricated themselves so that Georg could open the drawer next to his bed and pull a small jar of petroleum jelly from inside. Max arched his eyebrow. “Do you always keep a jar of that in there?”

“You never know when you’re going to invite your best friend to bed.” Georg responded cheekily as his unscrewed the cap carefully and dipped his fingers inside. He spread it carefully across his fingers, massaging the substance across his hand. Max watched him fondly, cataloguing every feature, tracing the curvature of every muscle, memorizing this image to keep in his mind until he died.

Georg caught him watching, and he called fondly, “What is it?”

“You really are beautiful.” Max murmured. He thought it might unnerve Georg but he only smiled and approached closer to Max. Knowing what Georg has planned, Max took the jar of jelly from Georg’s hands and lifted his legs over Georg’s shoulder, positioning himself so that Georg’s hands would have easy access to his hole.

“You should see yourself right now.” Georg whispered, and the look of awe on his face was undoubtedly reflected in Max’s own features. He did not have the time to think about what Georg had said, because as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he lifted Max’s hips slightly and slipped one finger into Max.

Involuntarily, Max groaned and bucked down onto his finger. It was not enough. He needed more, and he needed it now. “Please, Georg.” He groaned, rhythmically rolling his hips down onto Georg’s hand as Georg moved the digit lightly. “Please, I need more.” Georg’s lips met his as he inserted a second finger- this one accompanied by a twinge of pain that quickly resolved into bliss.

“God,” Max moaned out as Georg pushed his fingers in and out an in again. He could feel how slick he was becoming from the petroleum jelly. When Georg finally added the third and final digit, Max took it happily and thrust down against Max’s fingers one final time.

“Please, I want you inside me,” His voice trembled slightly. For a moment, he had to remind himself that this was real and that this was happening. Georg’s fingers moved inside of him and he was brought back to the present.

Georg seemed more than happy to oblige. He removed his fingers and Max dipped his own fingers into the petroleum jelly. He ran the up and down Georg’s shaft, slicking him up and mixing his pre-cum with the same substance that was leaking from Max right now.

When they were both satisfied, Georg grabbed Max by the back of his upper thighs. The tips of his fingers were splayed across his ass, digging into the skin there, but not harshly, just enough to keep them both in place. Max wrapped his arms around Georg’s sides, his hands already clinging to his back as Georg lined up his cock so that head pressed ever so slightly against the tight ring of muscles. Georg’s eyes, which had closed at some point, flashed open and their eyes met. Max gave him the slightest of nods.

Georg pressed inside. The head of his cock pressed slowly into Max’s slick heat, making Georg’s hips stutter slightly as he dropped his head and groaned. “You feel so amazing, Max.” He groaned, his cock stopped barely a quarter inside.

“Don’t stop.” Max urged, a twinge of pain erupting. He dragged his hands down Georg’s back and found his ass as if to encourage him. “Please, Georg, don’t stop.”

Georg gradually obliged and pressed deeper into Max, obviously struggling not to bury himself inside immediately. He instead took his pace at an agonizingly slow rate, and Max squirmed anxiously until he had finished thrusting inside and began to pull back out again.

“Oh God, you’re so tight.” Georg sighed, pulling back out and then sinking back down again, picking up his pace slightly. The pain began to subside, and Max groped at Georg’s ass to encourage him further.

“Faster. Please, faster.” He begged breathlessly.

Georg seemed more than happy to oblige as he began to move at a more steady pace, thrusting deep into Max and then back out again. Max thrust his hips down to meet him, and they both moaned in tandem on each thrust, like clockwork.

As the blissful feeling set in, Max decided that this must be what heaven felt like. To be completely open and unabashed in front of the man he loved, raking his hands up his back and pulling him into kiss after kiss, as freely as he wanted to. Or maybe it was what hell felt like. He found in that moment that it did not really matter. All that mattered was the feeling of Georg’s skin against his.

Max opened his eyes, which he was not aware that he had closed, and watched Georg above him, his eyes closed in pleasure and his usually neatly done hair smacking against his forehead, bright with a sheen of sweat, with each thrust. Max leaned up and kissed him, marveled at the combined feeling of their tongues dancing together as Georg thrust into him deeply and intensely. Max broke the kiss and arched his back as Georg hit his prostrate, crying out sharply, and loud enough for the sound to echo back to him.

His thrusts were becoming erratic; Max knew that Georg would not last much longer. He felt Georg’s hand leave his ass and find Max’s cock, running his hands over his cock gently. “Max, Oh, God, Max…” He repeated over and over, like a mantra. And Max felt the tightening in his stomach signifying his approaching climax just listening to the way his name rolled off of Georg’s tongue.

Georg brought their lips back together, and Max went over the edge, breaking away to gasp as his vision went white and thick cum spurted from the head of his cock and coated both of their stomachs.

“Say my name,” Georg pleaded, his hips stuttering with every thrust, “Please, I need to hear my name on your lips, Max-”

Still dizzy from his own climax, Max babbled, “Georg, fuck, Georg, please, I-” The words sent Georg over the edge and his spilled his cum into Max, his trembling arms giving out as he slid down to lay on top of Max.

They caught their breath for a moment before Georg pulled away, his now flaccid cock falling from Max’s ass. He rolled onto his side and collapsed on the bed, and they were engulfed in silence for a few long minutes as both attempted to recover from the euphoria of their orgasms. But eventually the breathlessness died away and the silence remained.

Max turned onto his side, determined to sort out what exactly it was Georg wanted before progressing any further. “Georg, I-”

“Not now, Max.” Georg answered. “We can talk about it in the morning. “For now though, would you stay with me?”

Max could hardly say no, of course, so he moved closer to lay against Georg, their limbs intertwined. He sighed and settled in to sleep, knowing that one day, Georg would find another woman and this would all be over. But for tonight, he could pretend that everything he had ever wanted was real.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I know I sure had a blast writing it! If you liked it, leave kudos or a comment please! Thanks! :)


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